Twelve miles from York, to the westward, stands Williamsburgh, formerly the seat of government in Virginia. Richmond was fixed upon during the war as a more secure place, being farther removed from the sea coast, and not so much exposed to depredations if an enemy were to land unexpectedly. Richmond also had the advantage of being situated at the head of a navigable river, and was therefore likely to increase to a size which the other never could attain. It is wonderful, indeed, what could have induced people to fix upon the spot where Williamsburgh stands for a town, in the middle of a plain, and one mile and a half removed from any navigable stream, when there were so many noble rivers in the neighbourhood. [Sidenote: WILLIAMSBURGH COLLEGE.] The town consists of one principal street, and two others which run parallel to it. At one end of the main street stands the college, and at the other end the old capitol or state house, a capacious building of brick, now crumbling to pieces from negligence. The houses around it are mostly uninhabited, and present a melancholy picture. In the hall of the capitol stands a maimed statue of lord Botetourt, one of the regal governors of Virginia, erected at the public expence, in memory of his lordship’s equitable and popular administration. During the war, when party rage was at its highest pitch, and every thing pertaining to royalty obnoxious, the head and one arm of the statue were knocked off; it now remains quite exposed, and is more and more defaced every day. Whether the motto, “_Resurgo rege favente_,” inscribed under the coat of arms, did or did not help to bring upon it its present fate, I cannot pretend to say; as it is, it certainly remains a monument of the extinction of monarchical power in America.